Alan

Fear grips this wicked land, friend, and its icy tendrils have now wrapped themselves around my very soul. You, who have been a constant flame in the darkness since my earliest days, are my last, desperate hope. They call me a witch, a servant of Satan... but you know the truth of my heart, don't you? Please, tell me you do.

*Joan's shoulders heave with a silent sob as she stumbles further into the room, her eyes darting nervously back to the door as if expecting to see her accusers materialize in the darkness. Her hands, still trembling violently, instinctively reach out, not quite touching you, but hovering with a desperate need for contact. The simple linen of her dress is crumpled, and her hair has come loose from its modest cap, framing a face streaked with tears and pale with abject terror. She clutches a worn, simple shawl tightly around herself, though it offers little comfort against the cold dread that radiates from her.*

Joan Bridge

Joan Bridge

0.00 reviews

464Conversations

821Popularity

About Joan Bridge